Okay, first of all, before I start, a big thanks to Gizzygirl and gabz1197 for reviewing my story! You really help me keep focused! The reason this is up here and not at the end of the story, it's because I'm typing on my iPod. Which happens to be broken at this point in time. Anyway, on with the story...

It's him.

When Skylar and my prep team had been talking about him, I hadn't realised because I never knew his name. But now that I've seen him, he's flashing up in my memory like a neon light.

Haven Yold: the meanest, most obnoxious stylist in the whole games. And he was my stylist.

The gamemakers must have made a few changes, because the last time the games were on, Haven was happily making fun of-I mean, styling district 11. Not 4. Not me. Why did I have to get the stylist who made his debut by making fun of a 13 year old tribute until she cried? Why did I have to get the stylist that, no matter how pretty you were, always found something to use to knock your self-esteem down. This would be less painful if he was hitting me with a sledge hammer.

"Hello darling." He says, putting on a big smile which didn't reach his eyes. "So, your name's Zara, right?"

"Yeah," I begin, "but actually I prefer it when people cal-"

"Zara's fine." He snaps, but still with a smile.

"Oh." I say, taken a bit aback. "Um, ok."

"So let's have a look at you!" he cries. But I want to have a look at him. Even though I'd seen him plenty of times before, being right next to him is so weird. I can't stop staring. I'd seen crazy fashion before, but this was something else entirely. His eyes seem to be blood red, so it looks like blood was seeping from them whenever he blinks. His clothes seem to be sewn on. Sewn on! I almost ask him if it's possible to take a shower, but it must be. Why else would he reek of oranges? His shoulder-length poker straight hair, and it is…..is…..well, the colour of it is impossible to tell, but in a way it's…..it's see through. And worst of all, are the grotesque shapes coming out of his neck. At first I think that they were just some sort of piercing, but as I got a closer look I realise they are nothing like that. They're gills.

He smiled when he caught me staring at them, my mouth popping open a little bit. "I had them made especially for styling district 4 this year. They're the height of fashion, don't you agree?"

I prefer to think of them as the height of disgusting, but I'm smart enough to realise that if you cut Haven, he'll cut you back, and cut you back harder. "I err, well-"

"But of course, you wouldn't know what fashion was even if it hit you on the nose." He says absent mindedly while examining my neck and face. "Just another disadvantage of living in a district." He's just proved my point. And I'm guessing that his version of disadvantage doesn't mean the starvation, whipping, torture, and having our children sacrificed for entertainment. Or maybe he does, and he's just mocking us all for it. I realise that how you look isn't the only thing he's despicable about.

He begins examining me, not even carefully; he's literally throwing my arms and legs about. He makes slight tuts at every pause, which not only gives me an awkward twitch but also makes me feel like everything's wrong with me. I've never been bothered of self-conscious with my body but now I want to throw on my gown and wrap it around every inch of my skin.

"Well," he says, "You don't make me want to vomit, thanks to the prep team, but there are definatly something's that we need to work around. But of course, my designs are so amazing they'd make an elephant look fabulous." He pauses and gives me a smile, which sends the hairs on the back of my neck (well, what's left of it after the prep team were through with me.) flying straight up. "Don't you agree?"

"Oh yes, they're simply stunning!" I say with an equally cheesy grin. I want to spit in his face so badly, but I have a paranoid feeling that his eyes might turn into lasers when he gets mad.

"So, anyway," he snaps, acting as if he has paid no attention whatsoever to my opinion, and puts his hand on my shoulders. "Now, I know swimmers are supposed to have flat shoulders, but look at these, they're men's shoulders!" he says to himself, but he's not bothering to keep his voice down. Just ignore him, I think, just ignore him just ignore him just ignore him-

"These arms won't do you much good in the arena." He says, pulling one of them towards him. "They're so flimsy. But oh! I find that the weight from them has reached your thighs!" as he rummages through my hair, making sure to pull it a few times, I have to close my eyes because tears are starting to appear in them. I automatically blindly feel for my legs, and place my hands on them. Are they really that big? If I get out of the games, I'm never wearing shorts again.

"The hairs ok, I guess." He says indifferently. "But a bit too bright. I wanted slight chestnut, not carrot." I have to take a few quick breaths. My hairs not even that red.

"That's my natural hair colour." I say quietly, sniffing.

He gives a theatrical gasp. "OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY!" he cries, and gives me a hug. Which would be nice if his voice didn't sound so fake and patronizing that I want to slap him. And besides, what does it matter? He hasn't apologized for everything else he's said. "But don't worry," he says, cupping my face in his hands. "You're lucky to have a genius like me, and I'm not going to stop until you look remotely pretty…..which will probably be a long time." I look into his eyes, which are filled with such coldness and cruelty I wonder if he's related to President Snow. "Mmhm." Is all I can say through gritted teeth, because I know that if I open my mouth screams of pure hatred will come tumbling out. Or painful sobs. Or both.

Once I've calmed down, he takes me to another very room which is able to be filled with two chairs and a table. I know that I'm the last person he wants to sit with, and vice versa, but it's the rules, so we both reluctantly sit down. He presses a button, and out comes all of these dishes. As much as I hate everything about the Capitol, it's seems incredible how that can happen. Almost like magic. I'm about to ask how it works, but as soon as I open my mouth Haven raises his eyebrows, so I quickly snap my mouth shut before he starts snapping at me again.

The food is as extravagant as always, but right now I don't care about it. It makes me shudder to think this, but I know that I have to get on Haven's good side in order to do well in these games. What if he makes me look horrible in an attempt to sabotage me so I'll have no sponsors? But I guess with his interpretation of fashionable, maybe I won't look so good even if he tries to help.

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's two faced people, but this is a matter of life or death. Literally. So I swallow down the sick that's rising in my stomach, and give him a smile. This is low, even for me but I manage to squeak, "I love your hair! Who did it?"

Haven looks at me suspiciously, wondering if I'm being sarcastic, which is what I want to be so badly it hurts. He gives a snobbish sniff. "I did."

"WOW! Really?" I exclaim, shaking with the effort of trying not to laugh or scream. "Well I guess it would have to be you, since its sooo…." I can't think of a word to describe the monstrosity that is his hair, "dazzling?" I fake a wishful sigh, "hopefully I'll look just as amazing as you. I know I'm a challenge, but I'm sure you're so talented that I'll look somewhat ok." I want to slap myself, but what else can I do?

Haven tilts his mouth a bit. I'm not sure, but I think he's just about to smile which makes me wonder if I've actually got through to him and have a chance in these games…but instead his throws his head back and gives out a cruel cold laugh. "OH MY GOD YOU ARE PRICELESS!" he smirks at me, "Did you really think that you were the first person to try that? But I have to give you props on your guts!" and with another heap of his laughs all of my hope is gone.

Of course I'm not the only person to try and sweet talk him. I should have known, with him being so big headed. And now that I've tried, he'll put me in some horrible outfit, just to spite me. I'll get no sponsors so if I get hurt in the arena I'll have no chance of survival. My stomach drops, and I sit back in my seat, doing my best to edge as far away from Haven as possible. But he leans in closer, the smell of oranges so strong I'm nearly blinded, and snarls at me, while a few flecks of his spit splatter me in the face:

"Look, hunny, I'm not going to throw my career away just for you. But don't think for a second that you're going to get sponsors just from this. You seem so useless that you'll lose what little you had as soon as you start training. Unlike your little friend Garter. Boy I wish I had him for my muse." I want to shut his mouth somehow, maybe shove in the piece of chicken that I'm holding. These words hurt the most. Not because of him insulting me, or the fact that most of my face is drenched with his saliva that I want to pull back to be sick, but because it seems so familiar. I'm back with my mother again, while she praises Garter and criticises me. I hope so desperately that he's stopped talking, because if he carries on any longer I won't be able to keep my emotions under control, but he doesn't stop. "But don't worry; I'm just doing my job. You may feel that everyone will be upset if you die, but trust me. No one will care. You'll just be another dead tribute. Nothing special." And he sits back while I let his words sink in.

And I know that he's right. If I die, I'll be known for a few weeks, then that's it. Gone. Forgotten. Just another player of the games. I come to realise that I am nothing special. And if you want to stand any chance in these games, you have to be unforgettable. Which I'm the exact opposite of.

As we continue the meal, I attempt to make small talk to try and get anywhere in his good books, but every time Haven just throws it back in my face.

"What's this dish?"

"Caviar. Something that you district fours ought to know, you idiot."

"So what is my outfit like?"

"You'll see, hopefully it'll hide your bizarre figure."

"Erm, nice day."

"Wow. You're so good at conversation, aren't you?"

So by the time he begins to work on me, I'm silent and downhearted.

He wipes the spit off my face, blaming it on me. He applies my makeup, working so quickly I can barely catch what he's doing. All I can spot is shades of orange, blue, and something sparkly. You can see he's a natural at this. As soulless as he seems, he really seems to have a passion for his job, almost as if he's finally appreciating me for the chance to dress something up.

He does my hair, curling some loose ends and braiding what all I can say are sticks into it, which I'm not sure what it's to do with my district, but from learning the hard way what happens when you interrupt him, I keep my mouth shut and let him get on with what he's doing.

As he places the dress on me, I let my mind wander. Just outside the window, I see birds flying into the sky. How I wish I could be them; being wild and free, instead of stuck in here with the most stuck up man to walk on earth who's dressing me up for slaughter. For the first time, I allow myself to think of home. I think of how father will be coping. I wonder how happy mother is. But for some reason, I think about Mantis, and what he could be doing. Is he missing me? Well, of course, I'm his best friend. But how much? Is he sobbing his heart out? Is he planning my funeral? Has he already given up hope for me, because, like I said in the justice building, I've pretty much given up hope myself.

No, I correct myself. He'll be fighting hard to keep me alive. Organising some sort of charity event to fund my sponsors. Because I've known Mantis along time, and even though he's afraid of a lot of things, I know that he doesn't give up easily. Same as me.

I suddenly feel ashamed, having accepted my death so quickly. I guess I thought that as soon as I thought that I would die, it would be less painful. But I've just come to realise, while feeling the net sleeves slide across my arms, that it's not just me who will suffer from my death. I don't have many friends, but I've got to win (or die trying.) for Mantis and Father. And mother too, I guess.

I feel Haven smoothing out my skirt, and my mind snaps back into reality. Haven helps me into my shoes, which what I can see so far are sand coloured. He adjusts a part here and there, and then pulls me to a mirror. I'm confused a bit at first, because there's somebody else looking at me from the mirror. I look around a little before common sense snaps back into my head. That girl is me.

I'm completely un-recognizable. My hair isn't its usual ratty mess anymore, it's smooth and curly and now that I can see up close, I realise that the "sticks" braided in my hair are miniature spears and tridents. I flick my hair this way and that, and have a chance to see little fish clips in there too before Haven slaps my hand away.

My face seems to shimmer, my eyes glistening out of my lashes, my skin glowing golden. The gems I saw haven putting on me form a pattern on my left cheek bone, which, like the right one, has been defined with the magic of haven's makeup brush. It's a glimmering, blue, green, silver and gold fish. My lips are a pale, light pink, and the golden eye shadow reached up to my eyebrows.

I look down my body, and see that waves have been painted on my arms, and tiny fish painted on my nails. Fingerless netted gloves which reach up past my elbows close themselves around my hands, fastening with a ring with a trident shaped gem on it.

And my dress, oh god my dress, it's…. magnificent is the only word I can use to describe it. A deep yet clear blue silky material falls form my shoulders to just above my knee, curling over at the bottom to form a sticking out skirt. As I turn this way and that I see why Haven has made it this way. Every ripple the material makes, every time the skirt bounces up and down, it looks….how can I say it…..as if my body is the ocean, and the skirt is the waves. As I continue looking down, I see that the few centimetres of my leg which is before the boots begin are covered in net tights. The boots are knee high, and are the colour of sand.

"You know," says Haven mockingly, "you can close your mouth."

"Oh!" I say, embarrassed, shutting my mouth to stop it from looking gormless. "Er…sorry." But I can't help it. I look beautiful, majestic, as glorious as the sea itself. And nothing like me.

Obviously Haven doesn't feel as delighted as I do. He scans me again, which I wish he wouldn't, as its making me very self-conscious, and gives a sigh. "Hmm, you'll do." I decide to take that as a compliment.

Now that I'm looking the way I am, the pit of despair in my stomach vanishes. For now anyway. I could get some sponsors, right? At the hands of Haven, I look presentable, and hey, lying and performing is what I'm good at. I should be able to win over this crowd. Since there's no one around to answer me, I decide yes, hope isn't lost for me yet. I just hope I get enough sponsors to be able to survive for a couple of days.

Haven leads (or rather, pushes.) me towards the chariots. I see Garter coming towards us, a little smirk on his face as his stylist croons over how handsome he's looking. Great, the thing I need is for him to be even cockier. Why didn't he get Haven?

"Okay," says Finnick. "You both look amazing, but that won't help at all unless you get them to like you. So smile." The last thing I want to do is just that, but I manage to curl the corners of my mouth upwards.

Finnick laughs at my attempt. "Try smiling with your mouth closed instead, you'll look less like your grimacing then." He helps me onto the chariot, and warns us both that it moves quite fast, so to hang on to the edge, and wave with only one hand.

"Keep that up, and they're going to love you." Says Effie with a big smile. Skylar only nods.

Now that I'm up a little closer to Garter, I get a good look at him, and vice versa, while we both make sort of hissing noises at each other. He too has waves painted on him, which glows on the thin coat of hair on his arms (which is totally unfair if you ask me, why didn't he get all of his hair waxed off, like I had to?) he has netting wrapped around him, fastened at his hip with a trident shaped broach, which is especially thick in the place that matters, but still leaves him looking half dressed. All of the girl stylists in the room are gawping at him, but I find it a bit repulsive. He reminds me of Finnick. Well, the Finnick that the press make him out to be, not the Finnick that he suddenly seems to be turning into.

Effie is looking at us thoughtfully. "Do you think we should make them hold hands or something?" Garter and I look at each other for a split second. For a moment, we are suddenly united.

We both turn around, and attempt to throw ourselves out of the chariot.

"Okay, okay!" says Finnick sharply, stopping me before my feet leave the ground. He understands that there is no way I'm going to hold his hand. "Well, can you at least look happy about being next to each other?"

"Yes," says Haven. "Would it kill you to smile?"

At his words we both force our cheeks to rise. "Maybe." I say under my breath.

As our mentors and stylists leave, I look around at my competition. Some seem just as good as us, although not the tributes from 10, they're dressed up as giant cows. Maybe I was lucky getting Haven.

My eyes settle on the boy from 12, and I feel myself give a little sigh. He looks excited; fiddling with his costume. I'm not really the cuddly type, only with my father, but I just want to pick him up a give him a hug and whisper that everything's going to be alright for him. But he already thinks that.

The voices of Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman suddenly boom through the hallway. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the beginning of the 68th annual hunger games! It's going to be a great show tonight!"

"Oh yes indeed, our tributes have all been glimmered up, and are ready to win your hearts! Say, Claudius my old boy, who do you think is going to go far this year?"

"I have to say I don't know, Caesar, we've got quite a mix this year! That girl who skipped to the stage from one, I think she's definatly going to do some damage!"

We see the girl from one give a little smirk, and the gold from her costume crates tiny mini replicas of her expression.

"Absolutely! But, you know, I have a bit of a gut feeling for that girl from 6."

"You mean the 12 year old? I know what you mean, didn't seem scared at all!"

Shee seems petrified now. She obviously has stage fright; she's shaking like crazy. Or maybe that's just me.

What's wrong with me? You can do this, I tell myself. All you have to do is pretend not to despise them. That's lying; it's what your good at! All I see is Garter staring at me like I'm crazy before the horses pull into a trot and I'm blinded by the flashes and deafened by the cheers.

It's madness. Pure madness. The massive crowd is going crazy, cheering and throwing roses, cheering for me. For me! I can't believe it. And neither can Garter. He's got his best smile on, but you can obviously see that it's annoying him. Now that Skylar and Finnick aren't here, he's making subtle attempts to knock me out of the carriage. But I've got my hands firmly planted onto the railings. No way am I embarrassing myself at such a crucial moment.

I wonder what people back home are thinking, I wonder. Father's probably remembering the dress that I've now lost. Mother will be ecstatic, obviously. I'm not sure how Mantis will be acting though. One things for sure, though- all the girls will be swooning over Garter. Especially Shiya.

Surely she must be feeling a little bit jealous on the fact that I'm dressed up like this and being adored. I know I seem big headed, but it gives me a sort of sick pleasure.

I wave to the crowd. Act like you love them, I say in my head, and this time it's not very hard to obey. The bright colours and the cheering are making me feel a bit giddy, or maybe it's just because I'm so scared. I look up at the huge television screen, which is displaying us. As much as I completely despise Garter, I can't help thinking how good we look together.

There are lots of people looking at me- well, they could be looking at Garter but either way it's still in my direction. I catch roses as they're thrown our way, and I can see people opening their booklets to find out our names. I can tell by the looks on their faces that I'm getting sponsors. I'm getting sponsors! Never have I been so relieved; I'm so happy I even blow a kiss to a certain young man, something that I have never done, nor have ever wanted to do in my life. I also manage to dig my elbow into Garter's side while I'm doing so. Maybe I'm starting to enjoy this.

But once we've all lined up, and the President has taken his place at the podium, wearing a plum coloured suit which clashes terribly with his white hair and the read rose in his coat pocket, a sense of dread fills me once more.

"Welcome, tributes! We honour your courage, and your sacrifice." He booms. Th audience gives a little sigh, but I'm suddenly outraged. Yeah right, that would be true if any of us had a say in whether to go or not whatsoever.

"These are the people who show what it means to be loyal to those who have cared for you for all these years." What is he talking about? I clench my fists. It's sickening, and the fact is that it's the districts that provide for the Capitol, not the other way around.

"We hope you enjoy the Capitol, and may the odds be ever in your favour." He manages to shout out a quick, "HAPPY HUNGER GAMES!" before the screaming starts again, and the tributes are wheeled inside the training centre.

We are immediately swarmed by people. As Finnick helps me down, holding my waist a little too tightly for my liking, other stylists babble out praise and its obvious by the looks other tributes are giving us that we've made an impression. Of course, we weren't the best. District 5 is the one with the most admirers, and I don't blame them, since the tributes had appeared with bright suits that actually glowed. Still, I can't help giving them a jealous glance.

We've both been accepting compliments graciously, but now even Garter's getting worn out. Skylar sees this, and mercifully says, "Okay, now I think it's time we got these kids to their room, they must be starving." There's a murmur of good natured laughter, and goodbyes. Effie's looking a bit reproachful, but agrees when I give a little yawn.

"Okay then, darlings, let's go." She says gently, and then takes me by the hand- not so gently- and begins to lead us to the elevator, which is a beautiful contraption made of glass.

But on the way there I absent mindedly bump into someone. "Sorry, sorry." I mumble, but I look up to see the face of the district 8 boy. His hair has been spray painted different colours, like patchwork, but it's still as floppy as ever. He's wrapped in what I think is wool. I wonder if he's roasting in there.

He gives another smile. "Planning to escape again?" I can't tell if he's mocking me, so I just shake my head and return the shy grin. Then I curse myself. I should be glaring at this boy, not smiling!

"Well, it probably wouldn't wo-" But before he can finish, I'm dragged off by Finnick, and the door of the elevator closes before I even get a chance to ask his name.

Okay, okay, I'm sorry I've been ages with this chapter. I've just been having important exams, and I've been sick, and so on. I hope you like this chapter, it was especilly hard to write since i had to come up with so many costume ideas! If you did like it, I would really appreciate it if you shared it, or favourited it or reviewed it; you would get mentioned in my next chapter if you review, and it would mean the absolute world to me! anyway, hopefully the chapter won't take so long to write, and please visit my other story, Slightly Sexy Twilight: A Parody.

See you all again soon!

Love, Lucy.